


Young Witches

by hotwingincident



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Little Children (2006)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Forgive me for hagrid, Fred Lives, Hermione feminist?, but another dies in his place, everyone goes in hiding, some of these kids probably don't exist, the reign of voldemort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotwingincident/pseuds/hotwingincident
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all raised their kids in a kind of quiet suburb where nothing ever seems to happen, until one eventful summer, when a convicted child molester moves back into town, and two parents begin an affair that goes further than either of them could have ever imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Witches

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from watching 25% of Little Children (A book by Tom Perrotta; also a movie with Kate Winslet). It’s not that I didn’t like it; I was unable to finish the movie. I watched some of the movie and thought of Dramione intensely, ‘I could write a Dramione crossover.’ I know some people don’t look at crossovers. Well I don’t so I put it as a regular fanfic. Not all of this is based off the movie. I don’t own Harry Potter or Little Children. I only own my characters. So don’t sue. Enjoy!

**The First (and probably the last) Chapter of Young Witches:**

Hermione mentally rubbed her temples. It was the same every day. The young mothers would tell each other tired they were, eating, sleeping and urinating habits of their children. Hermione smiled politely to hide the feeling of agony. Hermione’s muggle mind reminded herself to think like an anthropologist. _I’m a researcher studying the behavior of boring suburban women. I am not a boring suburban woman myself._

“Neville and I watched that muggle movie with that Carrey guy.” Hannah said. Hannah was the mother of Huey, a big boned three-and-a-half year old that walked around the playground like a Mafia boss. He would shoot other young witches and wizards with anything that formed a gun. Hermione deeply hated that boy and found it hard to look his mother in the eye.

“The Pet Guy?” analyzed Megan Macmillan, the mother of Roger and Vanessa. “I didn’t get it, since when did passing gas get to hilarious. _Only since there was life on earth,_ Hermione though, wishing she had the guts to say it out loud, _I was in Gryffindor._

Megan was one of those depressing supermoms that wore workout clothes all day, drove a huge SUV and listened to conservative talk radio stations. No matter what Hermione said to her discreetly, Megan refused to believe that any of the other mothers thought any less of Rush Limbaugh or more of Hillary Clinton. Every day Hermione would come to the playground to tell her but she would chicken out.

“Not the Pet Guy,” Hannah said. “The state trooper with the split personality.”

 _Me, Myself, and Irene,_ Hermione thought impatiently. By the Farrelly Brothers. Why couldn’t the other mothers remember anything, not even movies they actually seen? She herself is just built up with useless information about movies she would never dream of while imprisoned on an airplane, not that she flies anywhere.

“I remember that,” said Ginny. She was the mother of James. She wasn’t half bad. She had been really pretty in her youth, _probably_. She had long mane-like red hair with a petite statue. She was Hermione’s favorite, because they were somewhat related (secretly) and sometimes they would trade puffs and making subversive comments about their husbands and children, when no one was around. As soon as they were Ginny would become one of them. “It was cute.”

 _Of course you did,_ Hermione thought. There was no higher praise than _cute_. It meant harmless, posing no threat to smug suburbanites. At her old playground someone had actually used c-word to describe _American Beauty_ (not that she actually said it; it was _that thing with Kevin what’s-his-name, you know, with the rose petals_ ) _._ That had been the last straw for Hermione. After exploring her options for a while, she finally chose the Faraday School playground. She only found it was the same wherever you went. All of the young mothers were exhausted. They watched cute movies with titles they could barely remember.

“I was starting to like it,” Hannah said. “But a couple minutes later Neville and I were both asleep.”

“You think that’s bad?” Ginny laughed. “Dean and I were having sex the other night, and I drifted off right in the mist of it.”

“Oh well,” Hannah chuckled sympathetically. “It happens.”

Ginny shrugged her shoulders, “But when I woke up and apologized, Dean said he didn’t even notice.”  

“You should set a specific time for making love. That’s what Ernie and I do on every Wednesday night at nine-thirty.” Megan suggested.

 _Whether you want to or not_ , Hermione though, her eyes straying over the playground obstacle. Her daughter was standing near the top of the slide, sucking on the back of her hand as Huey pummeled Roger and James showed Vanessa her Little Mermaid underpants. Even at the playground, Rose didn’t interact with the kids much. She preferred to hang back and watch the action, as if trying to locate a seam that would permit her to enter the social world. _A lot like her mother_ , Hermione thought. She felt both sorry and proud of their connection.

“What about you?” It took a while to get Hermione to realize that Hannah was talking to her.

“Me?” A surprisingly bitter laugh escapes from her mouth. “Ron and I haven’t touched since Rose was conceived. Well that what it feels like at least.”

The other mothers traded uncomfortable looks, and Hermione realized she must have misunderstood. Ginny reached across the picnic table and patted her hand.

“She didn’t that, honey. She was just asking if you were as tired as us.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, wondering why she always had so much trouble following the conversation. “I doubt it. I never needed much sleep.”

~

Morning snack time was at ten-forty five on the dot, maintained by Megan, who believed that a key to good parenting is a severe devotion to agenda. She had placed glow-in-the-dark digital clacks in all of her children’s room, and told them to get up from bed when the first number turned seven. She repeatedly bragged about enforcing a 7 P.M. bedtime with no resistance, a claim that filled Hermione with envy and suspicion. She sensed a whip-cracking fascist glee behind Megan’s ability to make the trains run on time.

But still, as aporetic as she was of punctuality in general, Hermione had to admit that the kids seemed to find it reassuring. None of them complained about waiting or being hungry, and they never asked what time it was. The children just played and played; confident that they would be notified in time. Rose seemed really happy in this predictability in her life. Hermione could see the pleasure in her eyes when she came running over to the table; she was a part of the pack for the first time all day.

“Mommy, Mommy!” She cried. “Snack time!”

 _Of course, no system is foolproof,_ Hermione thought, looking through her diaper bag for the rice cakes she could have sworn she’d packed before they left the house. Maybe that was yesterday? It wasn’t easy to tell one week day from the next anymore; they all just melt together somehow like a box of crayons in the sun.

“Mommy?” an anxious tone escaped from Rose’s voice. All the other children had opened up their Ziploc bags and single-serving Tupperware containers. They were busy shoveling Goldfish crackers and Cheerios into their mouths. “Where my snack?”

“I’m sure it’s in here somewhere,” Hermione told her.

Long after she had come to the conclusion that the rice cakes weren’t in there, Hermione keep digging in there, pretending to search for them. It was a lot easier to look at the dark, then to look up at Lucy’s face and tell her the truth. In the background she heard someone slurping a juice box.

“Where it went?” a hard little voice demanded. “Where my snack?”

It took the Gryffindor inside of her to meet her daughter’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Hermione let out a long, defeated sigh. “Mommy can’t find it.”

Rose didn’t argue. She scrunched up her pale face, and clenched her fists, and begins to hyperventilate, beginning the next phase of the operation. Hermione turned to the other mothers apologetically; they were watching with interests.

“I forgot the rice cakes on the counter,” Hermione explained

“Poor thing.” Hannah said

“That’s the second time this week,” Megan pointed out this week.

 _You hateful bitch,_ Hermione thought.

“It’s hard to keep track of things,” observed Ginny, who supplied James with a tube of Go-gurt and a box of raisins.

Hermione turned to Rose, who was already in whimpers that were increasing in volume by the moment.

“Just calm down.” Hermione pleaded

“No!” Lucy shouted. “No calm down!”

“That’ll be enough of that, young lady.”

“Bad Mommy! I want snack!”

“It’s not here,” Hermione said, handing her daughter the diaper bag. “See for yourself.”

Rose glared at her mother evilly, until she snatched the bag away from her hands.  Rose turned the diaper bag upside down; a bunch of Pampers, baby wipes, loose change, balled-up Kleenex, books, and toys escaped from the bag unto the wood-chipped covered ground.

“Sweetie,” Hermione spoke calmly, pointing at the mess. “Clean that up, please.”

“I . . . want . . . my . . . snack!” Rose gasped

With that, the dam broke, and Rose was broke in grievous tears. Her musical sounds made the other kids stare as if they were picking up pointers.

“Poor thing,” Hannah said again.

 _The other mothers knew what to do at moments like these,_ Hermione thought. They all read the same book or something. Were you suppose to ignore the tantrum and let the child cry themselves out? Or pick them up and remind them that they were still loved and cared for? Hermione had heard both at one time or another. In any case, she knew that a good parent would take some sort of clearheaded action and not let their daughter scream her head off.

“Wait.” It was Megan who spoke up, her voice was radiated with authority, even Rose stopped screaming enough to look and see what’s going on. “Roger, hunny. Give Rose your Goldfish.”

Roger was utterly offended by that statement. “No.” He turned his body the opposite way to form a barrier between her and his Goldfish.

“Roger Ackley, give Rose your snack.” Megan held out her hand.

“But Mama.” He whimpers, “They’re mine.”

“No back talk. You can share with your sister.”

Roger finally surrendered without protest; Megan immediately gave it to Rose, whose face broke into an agitated smile.

“Thank you,” Hermione told Megan. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“It’s nothing really,” Megan replied. “I just hate to see her suffer like that.”

~

Not that they would, but if any of the mothers had asked how it was that Hermione, of all people, had ended up married, living in the suburbs, and caring full-time for a small child, she would have blamed it on a moment of weakness. Well that’s how she would have described it herself. After all, what was adult life would out a moment of weakness, after another? Most people fell in line like obedient little children, doing what society told them to do at any moment, while pretending that they’d actually made some sort of choice.

But the thing is Hermione considered her an exception. Since her last year of Hogwarts was interrupted with Vol- her mind went blank of his name. She couldn’t remember. It was ages ago. Anyhow, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named killed Harry. Hermione, the Weasleys’ (including Fred), the Lupins’, and Sirius cried for what felt like years. She decided to move on and break it off with Ron; to what she claimed their relationship was just in the heat of the moment.

Hermione couldn’t handle going to Hogwarts for another year as she wanted in the beginning and to hide from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s reign. She decided to go to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic for her seventh year. She joined at the Witches’ Center (like a Women’s Center) and spent part of her year at Beauxbatons socially aware, politically active community of women. To pursit this she volunteered at a Muggles’ Rape Crisis Hotline and marched in Take Back the Night rallies. By the end of the semester, she cut her hair short and stopped shaving her legs, and attended Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual dances and social events. Two months after graduating Beauxbatons (without her parents), she dove right into a relationship with Cho Chang, who was going to be a Healer. It was a perfect combination to her voyage to self-discovery.

And then it started to swirl downwards. Cho moved back to London and Hermione stayed in Muggle Cannes. She took a job at a café to pay for rent while she figured out what to do next. They visited each other for a few summers, but they couldn’t recap the togetherness. On the day Hermione was packing her roommate’s stuff, Cho called and said maybe it would be best if they didn’t see each other anymore. She claimed being a Healer was stressful and she didn’t have time for a relationship.

Hermione had nothing in her life but time. She didn’t get involved with anyone else for almost a year and when she did it was with Viktor Krum once more. He liked everything, but her hairy legs. So she started shaving again, got fitted for a diaphragm, and spent a lot of at his Quidditch games. She yelled at his games excitedly in the beginning, then after a while she got tired of it. Viktor would chat with other fangirls and take them home. When she tried to explain her objections, he suggested she take the metal rod from her ass.

 After dumping Viktor without all the press knowing, she applied for a muggle college. She knew if he parents remembered they would have been proud of her. She had the image of being a young professor, a feminist film critic. She would be a mentor and inspiration of girls like her everywhere.

After a few weeks of the Ph.D program, she realized it was a sinking ship. There weren’t any jobs available. The old men who were teaching were stepping aside for the next generation. So she decided to quit school and work at the café again. She realized she was a twenty-six year old failure still exploring her sexuality, who reminded herself daily _I am a painfully ordinary person, destined to live a painfully originally life._

And to illustrate this humiliating lesson, her old lover Cho walked into the café one chilly afternoon that fall. She looked absolutely radiant with her strong jawed Korean husband standing beside her proudly and a plump, wide-eyed baby strapped to her chest in a forward-facing holding thing. They both recognized each other right away. Cho froze in the doorway.

Hermione smiled sadly, trying to acknowledge the strangeness and emotional richness of the moment. Cho did not smile back. Her face, was fuller, less girlish, with a touch of fatigue around the eyes, did not betray the slightest sign of desire or regret. Only pity, the type of pity where you were just another bored freshman who didn’t know what the hell the teacher was talking about. She whispered something to her husband, who cast a startle look and mouthed the word _Really?_ Cho shrugged, as if she didn’t understand how it was possible she even know this pathetic green apron woman. They retreated out of the door, leaving to fake smile at the next person in line.

 _That,_ she would have explained to the other mothers, _was my moment of weakness._ It lasted through that winter and into the spring, which was when Ron stepped up at the counter one tedious morning. Ron looked older with his stubble. He was wearing a muggle business suit which surprised her of how good he looked in. His eyes brighten when he saw her at the counter. “Mione!?” He said calling her nickname. “What are you doing here?”

“Working.” She squeaked out embarrassingly.

“Really? I expected you to be a professor or something by now!”

“Life didn’t go as planned.” She flushed shamefully. He let out a strained oh.

“What are you doing here?” She asked changing the subject.

“I decided since Voldemort was ruling the wizard world,” He whispered the last part. “I try doing muggle things. A month or two it was hard to do some things without my wand, but I got the hang of it. Now I’m working at an office! This week is my vacation.”

“Oh.” _Ron was a businessman and she was stuck at a coffee shop._

“Doyouhaveaboyfriend?” Ron blurted fast.

Hermione gave him a puzzled look. She thought over what he said and gave him a no.

“Do you have a—”

“No!” He answered quickly. That was how she ended up on this playground.

~

Hermione knelt down to pick up the assortment of things from the diaper bag. She knew she should have asked Rose to help—at three the child should be old enough to begin taking responsibility, but that would have a cause another tantrum. She didn’t want that again. 

Besides the longer she could stay on the ground from accusatory faces of the other mothers. She let= the wood chips dug into her knees deeper, inflicting dull pain. Hermione thought she might have deserved this. She was starting to enjoy in for a second or two.

Her copy of _The Handsmaid’s Tale_ was lying cover down on top of _The Berenstain Bears Visit the Dentist;_ the sight of the two books filed her with the odd sense of shame.

“Maybe you should make a checklist,” Megan told her. “Tape it to the door so it’s the last thing you see. That’s what I do.”

 _I am not longed for this playground,_ Hermione thought. She looked up and forced herself to smile.

“Thank you,” She said, “That’s a really helpful suggestion.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you don’t understand what’s going on don’t be scared to ask me, I except criticism. There will be more Draco in the next chapter, if I do one. I might take long to do each chapter but don’t give up on me! To be honest this took me months, because I was slacking. I won’t take that long. I’m watching Pretty Woman! I love this movie; I’m thinking about a Dramione crossover for this movie.


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